Scarlett froze, the muscles in her back twitching before she turned.
“You can have a couple weeks to find somewhere else to live,” Clara added, voice quieter now.
“Fine.” The single word from Scarlett held barely concealed rage. Then she stormed off.
Holden turned to Clara. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I should have done that weeks ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
She lifted a shoulder. “I don’t know. I didn’t want to look for someone else in case they were even worse.”
He scoffed. They couldn’t get much worse.
“Do you know why she did it?” he asked.
Clara swallowed. “I’m positive she’s investigating the hospital. Linking that woman who died to patients who’ve been getting sick.”
“What?”
They both turned to see Jesse stepping outside, Aspen close behind.
“Your roommate’s looking into the hospital?” Jesse asked.
Clara wrapped her arms around her waist. “Yes. Do you already know what’s going on there?”
“I know that the hospital administration has been looking into some events. But I only step in if there’s suspicion of foul play, like criminal activity or someone deliberately making patients sick.”
“I think that’s what Scarlett thinks,” Clara said quietly.
“I’ll look into it.” Jesse stepped closer. “But I want you to leave it alone. Okay?”
“I never wanted to be a part of it anyway,” she assured him.
Good, Holden thought. Because if there was criminal activity happening at the hospital, anyone responsible would be doing everything they could to protect themselves…and no part of Holden wanted Clara near that.
CHAPTER 16
Clara swiped the mascara wand across her lashes as she watched her reflection in her dresser mirror.
She was tired.Had beentired all day. Which didn’t make sense because she’d barely done anything. But if there was anything she’d learned over the years about her chronic fatigue, it was that it didn’t matter if she’d seen two clients or ten, the exhaustion could sneak up on her.
Thirty. She was going to be thirty freaking years old in a week. And she’d most likely go into her thirties a virgin.
Yes, she’d told Holden that she wanted to sleep with someone before that, probably making it sound as though she’d have sex with any Tom, Dick, or Harry who came along.
But the closer she got to her birthday, the more she realized she couldn’t do that.
She capped the mascara as her phone dinged with a text. Maybe it was Indie. Her cousin was five minutes late to pick her up to go to the bar.
It wasn’t.
Helen: Hey. We haven’t seen you at the running club lately. We miss you. Want to hang out?
Interesting. Helen didn’t text her often.
She still hadn’t talked to Malcolm about Scarlett. She’d tried, but the man was always either working, sleeping, or busy. And she understood. He was a doctor; he worked long hours.
